Anon Jim:*sees your post* well you know my answer :P Creepy!
“The Host begins his narration.”
“The wind blows gently, cool and crisp in the late winter air. A light dusting of snow covering the ground, soft and fresh, lays undisturbed as most sleep in their warm, cozy beds.”
“Undisturbed, that is, except for the footprints of a lone man walking down the street.”
“He wears only a suit, no coat or jacket to keep the chill out of his bones. He has no need. His bones are already chilled, his bones and his heart, and have been that way for years. The cool night air sharpens around him, better described as icy. He looks up, stopping, in front of a door.”
“Snow begins to drift down from the heavens around him. It comes to rest on his hair, his shoulders, his face. His face is as white as the snow. His eyes, though blazing red, are colder than the little white flakes that remain unmelted on his frigid flesh.”
“He knocks on the door and waits.”
“After a moment someone answers, blinking the sleep from their eyes and pulling a cardigan tighter around them against the chill.”
“The man’s eyes have turned brown, a usually warm and comforting color, yet his gaze remains as cold as ever.”
“He speaks, clear yet soft. ‘I’m sorry to wake you, I’m afraid that my car has broken down and I left my cell phone at my office. Do you have one, or perhaps a home phone I could borrow, to call a tow truck and maybe cab?’ ”
“The person at the door is about to say no, but when they speak they agree, feeling a sense of calm overtake them.”
“The man grins and steps into the house.”
“... The Host is unsure if he should continue the recording. While he is not one to shy away from the topic of death in his own stories, this feels... distasteful.”
“... Distasteful. Ha. Darkiplier is unlikely to agree.”
